The Grave and the Raven
by Penonymous
Summary: A grown Todd visits a certain grave in order to put his past behind him. One-shot


**Disclaimer: I don't own Johnny or Squee, obviously.**

**I don't know where this idea came from, really. It just kind of...came. One of my sadder pieces.**

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The middle-aged man inches fearfully through the grave-ridden yard, looking around for that one name. Several of the cold stones share the same end date, their deaths never far apart. Todd knows that some of those graves are just memorials, that they contain no coffin. He knows exactly where the bodies really are, but he dares not dig in his yard. Even cleaned up, he swears he can still hear the screams from the basement, and the maniacal laugh of the man that both protected him in his childhood and haunts his nightmares to this very day. But the house couldn't fall to ruin. The nightmare would be displeased.

A giant, starved raven lands on a barren branch on a tree nearby, and Todd stares at it. The bird cocks his head at the man, seeming to study him critically. Those dark eyes twinkle a bit when the raven finally caws and flies low, directly over a certain row of graves. It lands on a different tree and looks back at Todd, almost expectantly. Todd clutches the black daisy even tighter and reluctantly shuffles forward. His instincts tell him to follow the bird, and someone once told him to always rely on that.

"An amazing thing, our natural instincts are," someone had told him, standing over a younger Todd. "Despite society's efforts and so-called evolution, our animal instincts are merely diminished, but never eradicated. And they almost certainly tend to be correct each time. Something in your skull tells you to run, and most likely, danger in some kind of form emerges. I believe that even your instincts are telling you right now to flee from this room. My own informs me that you are no threat, that, if I so desired, I could easily kill you. But I won't. Rely on your instincts, they are normally correct."

The present-day Todd shook his head. He shouldn't be reliving those horrible days of growing up. The abuse, the neglect, the fear, it all needs to be put in the past. Today was the first step towards that goal. That was why he was in this horrible place.

The raven cawed again, startling him. The black-feathered bird shuffled a bit, impatient with the man's slowness, apparently. Todd notices this and hurries along, eventually standing beneath the tree's branches. He looked down fearfully at the tree's roots. This is where that person is. The one that, as far as the city's inhabitants knows, only ever existed in far-fetched tales that became more extravagant through word of mouth.

Some would take what they learned from these tales and even go so far as to dress up as this mythical man for halloween. It was not uncommon to see foil-tipped boots on small children weilding rubber knives with red Jell-O stained on it. Dark eyeshadow would be applied by a loving mom around the eyelids of the child, and the dad would cut the hair of the child simultaneously so that it was messy and dyed black.

They would always come to Todd's house, and he would still hand out candy to those horrid look-alikes, but regretfully. Sometimes there were whole hordes of them, and that was the worst. Groups of them, treading across the newly-sprouted lawn of Todd's fixed up old house. Crowds of giggling nervous children, sword-fighting with their fake scythes and comparing whose fake blood seemed more realistic.

Todd shudders and quickly places the black daisy against the tree's body, the tree that no one planted, but had somehow appeared. He hurries away from spot, eager to get back home and forget any of this ever happened. The raven peers at the man's retreating back, and it would look amused if it could. Such a strange little boy, or man, would be the correct term. The bird didn't know why, but every time it would catch a glimpse of Todd's eyes, it would immediately get an image of a cowering, tiny child clutching a teddy bear.

The starved raven hops down from its perch and studies the black daisy that was left behind. The darkened petals were slightly wilted, and the stem was crushed from the man's hands, but it was appropriate. The flower fell from its position as the raven took off, determined not to waste any more time in this place. It didn't know where it was headed, it never did. So it wandered aimlessly, leaving behind its home in the sickened tree rooted over a human's grave. The raven would return eventually to check on the flower, but for now, wandering seems best. Hey, maybe it can even peck out the eyes of a few people that throw rocks at it and call it ugly. That would be a happy ending, wouldn't it?


End file.
